Mercury
by Flayer
Summary: VAMPIRE!HARRY, BELLA/HARRY, AU: As the Dark Lord begins his rise, Harry finds himself caught between a unbreakable vow with Cygnus Black and defeating Voldemort. Instead of fixing the past, he's only made it worse.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Harry Potter series, but I do own this fic. I write purely for enjoyment, not for monetary purposes

**A/N -** The basic run down of this story is that Harry Potter gets transported back in time through the Death Veil into a different era, where he is turned into a vampire. Please don't steal from my fic. If you have any questions, concerns, suggestions, words of praise/criticism, I'm always happy to hear them, whether by pm or review. Another thing, this story had a previous version, so if it seems familiar, that's why.

Also, pairing is Harry/Bellatrix. ;)

**MERCURY**

The sky was caught between evening and night; the pale glow of the moon poured onto the concrete balcony as the splendor of vermillion and orange began vanishing into the canopy of stars and darkness.

_The Alator_ was a high-end, ridiculously expensive restaurant that catered to magical folk with more money than they knew what to do with. Being able to afford meals here was a status symbol in the eyes of most socially-concerned purebloods. He was sure that the restaurant made more than it rightfully should with that train of thought.

Harry had only been here once before. When the world was different, Hermione had taken him and Ron here to celebrate their achievement in officially becoming a healer and auror respectively with grand dishes and gushing champagne. In the end, he'd gotten so drunk that the guards had to kick him out.

Today, he wasn't rejoicing in naïve merriment at the façade of a happy future.

Despite the easy chatter going on around him, Harry sat on the edge of his chair, wondering whether he should put up a calmer, cooler persona for tonight's transactions. It was a Friday, and being in such a crowded place stirred up an almost nauseating uneasiness in him. It was a mix of things really; the pretentious conversing of society's elite, the constant salivating from being in the presence of so much potential_ food_, and the clanging of metal silverware against their plates.

He clenched his jaw, resisting the temptation to put his head in his hands, or just outright going on a killing spree to obtain peace and silence. But he wanted there to be no doubt of his capability.

Harry watched the beads of condensation roll down his cold, foggy glass of water. The cubes of ice bobbed and tinkered in the drink. Some of them were starting to melt.

He was too frugal to pretend to eat here on his own accord. Blame a shitty childhood. Someone else was paying for his time here.

The man across from was the vision of cold elegance, a picture of what purebloods strived for, but rarely acheived. From the moment Harry had seen him, he knew he was dangerous in his own right.

He had a large menu propped between his lap and the edge of the table. He had been skimming the thing for a while. Harry had decided not to order anything. He had always assumed the Blacks had less money than they claimed to, and he himself was by no means wealthy. Plus he couldn't digest anything but blood, so there was that.

He had a vague idea of why he was here. Cygnus Black was a politician in the Ministry of Magic. He was a behind the scenes guy, controlling the votes, and pulling the strings. But sometimes, when blackmail and verbal manipulations failed to work, it was time to bring in someone to do the dirty work.

Harry did the dirty work. He gained the attention of his clients by entering – and winning – organized duels against the best sorcerers of this time period, and worked as a killer-for-hire as his little secret. Considering the people who hired him, he wasn't broke, but jobs were few and far in between.

Finally, a smooth baritone broke the silence. "I would like the fire-lamb caccavelle, Amando." Harry looked up to see a young server with styled black-silver hair, and a stud in his left ear. The man's smile was full of pearls and the ends of his eyes crinkled, but dislike reeked from the visage of happy servitude.

"I'm fine," Harry muttered, taking a sip of his water.

The waiter paused, and looked to Cygnus. The Black shook his head slightly. "Nonsense, he'll have what I'm having."

The server gave them both a large smile that was all teeth, and walk away. Harry waited until he was far enough away to begin their conversation.

He turned back to see Cygnus watching him with slightly furrowed brows. Someone had to make the first move, and Harry somehow doubted it was going to be his potential employer. And he wanted to get the hell out of here as fast as possible.

"You know I'm not going to eat that," He said, trying to keep the derision from his voice.

"I am aware of your condition." Cygnus replied in an even, soft tone, but it reached Harry's ears easily enough. It was one of the perks of being what he was. "Perhaps I should have ordered a steak instead. But really, tell me. What is it like to be a vampire? I've never met one before."

"It has its ups and downs." Harry took another small sip of his water. The only things he could consume other than blood without being violently sick were liquids. In fact, Harry felt that some water every now and again helped his circulation. On the contrary to some myths, vampires had their own kind of body fluid. Blood just gave them energy. "What is it like being human? I haven't been one in a while," he drawled out.

He'd been turned at twenty-three, but 'alive' for twenty-nine. He would look this young for the rest of his existence.

"Boring, really," Cygnus mused. "Things get old fast, but I'm not complaining. I'd rather be alive than not."

"Interesting." The scent of the waiter's blood became stronger as he returned. Everyone's blood had a different flavor. Unsurprisingly, witches and wizards that used dark magic were much, much more appealing than those who didn't – this server definitely did. Tangy, spicey and exotic. Surprisingly, however, Cygnus Black smelt clean.

"Sirs." The server laid the plates of steaming food onto the table. It was cheese-laden pasta with chunks of seasoned reddish meat interspersed throughout it. "Eat well; don't be afraid to call me over if you have any questions of concerns!" A woman wearing a dress with a plunging neckline waved him over, and he left with a little too much of a prance in his step.

"Many people would sacrifice their family at the altar to have a friend like me." Harry turned his head to Cygnus, who was patting an embroidered napkin to his mouth. "Places like these are not out of my reach."

Harry twisted his lips into a humorless smirk. "I don't want to play this game, Black. Come on, let's get to it. What can I do for you?"

Cygnus's upper lip twitched. "I'm just being civil. If you'd prefer me calling you out on the barbaric nature of your race, or your complete lack of manners, then just say so. Considering that I am about to make a very large decision tonight, I would appreciate you humoring me, even your thoughts fly in a different direction."

Harry refused to comment. He already had too many enemies on his plate to make another.

Cygnus suddenly leaned forward. "Do you believe in Heaven? A Hell? An afterlife?"

"I don't really think about it," He admitted. "I'm not ruling anything out. I grew up without magic, and suddenly, one day, the impossible became reality."

"Interesting, but I have a different view. I believe what we have here—"Cygnus forked a piece of his food "—what we're living, at this very moment, is all that we have, and all that matters. I want to make the most of my time on Earth, before my body is preserved in the family crypt for my descendents to gawk at."

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly. "That's wonderful. I'm sure many of your contemporaries share the same sentiments."

The man continued on. "There is a war coming. I can feel it brewing. I want history to remember me, not as a politician, but as a something more. Whether my actions later become famous or notorious, I want to revel in my own glory while I can. My soul is growing old. I want to pass without regrets of what could have been. You will help me do this."

He stayed quiet, mulling over Cygnus's words. "I don't enjoy being someone's puppet."

"Perhaps you misunderstand me." The black patriach's jaw clenched and unclenched. "I will be yours."

His pupils turned into slits. "Explain."

"We will preform a Fiachian ritual. When I am in a situation where your help is required, I will call on you. You'll take over my body and accomplish the task." He breathed out slowly. "And when I die, which I promise you, will be soon, you'll get my soul as payment for your services."

Harry inhaled sharply. A person's soul was their most intimate and guarded treasure. The magics that dealt with them were powerful. Being the Master of Death, he knew that very well.

One of the requirements for using someone's soul is their complete and utter consent. And that could only be given when they offer it up without previous influence.

This was a rare opportunity. He just had to make sure he ended up getting the better part of the deal. Fiachian ritual weren't as tempermental as most dark rituals. In fact, they were quite simple. But they were deeply personal and exposing, and for that reason, they were almost never used.

"I'm listening."

**¸o:O:o¸**

**~MERCURY~**

******.o:O:o.**

The wards surrounded the small house in a suffocating, iron grasp. It rolled and twisted like the muscles beneath a tiger just before it pounced. As Harry approached it, the unyielding grasp melted into butter, cooing and inviting him into its safe embrace.

When he shut the door behind him, he wards stiffened, and its hyper-aware clutch on the house returned.

He flicked his holly wand, promptly lighting up the foyer, revealing books and papers covering every inch of table space. Knives, guns, and swords were lounging on the couches. There was the distinct smell of chocolate cake in the air.

"Vian? Amée?" He called out. "I've got news."

A laugh like spilling jewels rang through the house. "Vian's out." A silky, low voice came from the top of the stairs. Amée was wearing a semi-transparent lavender negligee that barely ghosted over her upper thighs. His magically-created light made her loose waves of raven hair gleam violet.

She cocked her head at him and her rosey lips pulled into a smirk.

Fleur was hard to resist, but a full veela? That was a whole different kind of challenging.

One second she was there, and the next she drifting down the steps. "You said you had news, love?" Amée waltzed towards him and pressed her body into his, kissing his lips briefly. He put his arms around her petite waist, and she arched her back his embrace.

"You're such a tease," He whispered.

Her dark eyes sparkled and she gave him a coy smile. "I know." She pulled away. "It's my only form entertainment, seeing as it would be _unwise_ for me to leave the house. The desire in your eyes makes my day." Amée turned to sit on one of the small tables, papers rustling beneath her.

"Tell me, do you think I'm getting fat? All I've been doing recently is eating. You shouldn't bring me such sugary foods anymore. I can't resist them."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "You look fine as ever. I've never seen a fat veela, if that helps."

Amée made a pleased noise and crossed her legs. "Nor I a fat vampire. What did you want to tell me, love? I'll listen."

"I've made a deal with a British politician. After a few stints, his soul is mine."

She looked up at him from underneath her thick eyelashes. "That's very Master of Death-like. What would you want with a soul?"

Harry gave her a half-smile. "I don't know, but souls are priceless. Voldemort has to be dealt with eventually, and since he's scarily obsessed with death... you just never know. It might come in handy."

"That's as good of a reason as any. Can I see that?" Amée pointed to his wand. He handed it to her without a fight. After getting used to the power of the Elder wand, using anything else felt unnatural, even his old wand. Getting it back from Dumbledore was one of his goals.

He suspected that since he was the Master of Death, it still recognized him as its owner. The Deathstick would still be undeniably powerful in a different set of hands, just not the kind of powerful it would be as it would be with him.

In his past life, he had always kept the Deathly Hallows on him at all times. After being spat out of the Death Veil, they had disappeared. He figured the three of them were some sort of key. Time and Death were two married concepts. Somehow, this all fit together.

Amée was waving the wand around like a conductor instructing an orchestra. She was fascinated by magic, but she couldn't do any herself. Harry would have pitied her if she couldn't transform into a fire-throwing bird-monster practically at will.

"Satisfied?"

"No." She stood up, raised the hem of her nightwear, and stuck the wand in the thin band of her panties. "Get it from me in the morning." She winked at him, and ran up the stairs, dark wood stark against her toned, pale leg.

Harry watched her until she vanished into her room. Some veelas despised their beauty, thinking of it as a curse instead of a gift.

Amée definitely thought of it as a gift.

"I love her." Someone sighed from behind him. Harry swirled around, deeply unnerved, to see a familiar lanky, golden-haired vampire looking at the spot where the veela used to be. Vian was the only one that could sneak up on him after his change.

"You're married. When did you get back?"

"She's inhumanly gorgeous, not omniscient. I came back a while ago." He sniffed and buffed his nails, ignoring Harry's statement about being wed. "I heard the news. Congratulations. But even though I'm happy for you, there's still a more pressing matter that needs to be addressed."

Within a second, Harry was slammed against the wall, feet lifted off the ground, with Vian's hand stangling his throat. Harry tried to say something, but all that came out were choking noises. He clawed at the hand, but it was unrelenting.

"Why are you wearing this?" Vian hissed, pointing to the band around Harry's neck. "Why are you collared like a dog?" He ripped it off his neck, and flung it across the room.

Harry fell to the ground. The colors around him seemed to blur and then sharpen. His world turned upside down. Fangs elongated, brushing his bottom lip, and his eyes burned red. A ravenous thirst bloomed in his stomach and burst into every corner of his body.

Whatever he had felt during his stay at the restaurant absolutely paled in comparision to what he was feeling now.

His nostrils flared, and he bared his teeth, a low growl, dark and dangerous, arising from his throat. "Give it back," he hissed out, fury invading his mind.

"Now that's more I like it." Vian said, pleased. "You haven't eaten in so long, and I've wondered how you could stand it, being a baby and all. I am your sire, and you _will_ obey me. Listen to me when I say I have your best interests at heart. Let's forget about how you obtained one of those abominations, and feed you instead."

Harry glared up at him, fury and malice dancing in his eyes like dark fire.

¸o:O:o¸

**~MERCURY~**

******.o:O:o.**

Harry stood on the cold, stone floor, gazing at Cygnus impassively. He wondered if he looked different to the Black. He felt different without the band – more alive, yes, but also more dangerous, like his control could tip over at any moment.

There was no control. He was just feathers away from _slipping_ without that band. It would take years for his body to get used to being a vampire. He didn't have years, things were happening right _now_. He needed his body to get physically used to going without blood for weeks - months even, in case he was ever kidnapped. The band only supressed the mental aspect of it, which was half the battle anyway.

He was so aware of Cygnus's beating heart, pumping blood through his heart in steady, even thumps. Every motion; the drips of water trickling down the dungeon walls, and the rhythmic heaving of a woman's chest, body concealed by the heavy shadows, caught his attention.

"I want an unbreakable vow." Cygnus said. "That you will accomplish what I want when you are in control of my body to the best of your abilities, not what you want. That you will come when I require you, and that you will never bring harm to my mind or body if you can avoid it."

"And I want a vow that you I will get your soul when you die, no matter how you die. And that you will never share any of my secrets that you learn after the ritual."

"I would like the same." Cygnus beckoned to the woman, who reluctantly stepped forward. "This is a friend of mine who I met at St. Mungo's. She'll help us."

There was something wrong with her. She didn't look like she was all there, mentally. Her grey eyes were bulging with suspicion and paranoia. The woman smelt sickly and bitter. "Are you sure about this?" She yelled, her shrill voice piercing through his eardrums. "Your cousin could be working for the Ministry."

"Of course."

They clasped their hands, and said their vows. The lady managed to make it official, and a green light glowed between them to seal it.

Slowly, Cygnus turned around and brandished his own wand. "_Avada Kedavra_," he muttered, causing the witch fall to the ground, lifeless.

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"It was time she was put out of her misery." He offered, giving him a grim grin. "And I owe you a dinner."

Harry's eyes glittered, and his everything in his body started _pumping_ like a machine. His thirst had been significantly quelled last week, when Vian took him hunting in a backalley of some muggle slum. This woman smelt, in no way, appealing. If they had been back at The Alator, he would have drained her before even realizing what he was doing.

"I have standards too, Black."

Cygnus paused for a second before giving Harry a look at gave him the impression he was mentally shrugging. "Then let's get started." Harry pulled out a bag of white powder – crushed unicorn bones – and sprinkled the finely-ground substance into the shape of two large circles.

Cygnus reached into his robes to reveal a vial of red liquid. He popped the cork off, and dipped his wand into it. Slowly, he crouched down and drew intricate runes in the space between the two circles.

When he was done, Harry sat down in one circle, and Cygnus did the same to the other. They both glanced at each other - Cygnus didn't seem worried at all. Excited, even.

Light danced over the powdered bone, and suddenly, everything went black.

**-M-**

_His throat went dry._

_"Tonks?" He whispered, voice like sandpaper._

_The floor felt unsteady beneath him. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, trying to fight off the sudden light-headedness._

_Her face was more angular. She was definitely Andromeda's daughter; they shared the same brown hair – like old autumn leaves. And despite the slight spattering of freckles across her face, there was still something undeniably aristocratic about her._

_Behind the mask, she was pure. Hidden under the robes, she was charred beyond recognition. Limbs didn't look like limbs. If the arms didn't grow out of her shoulders, he could have mistaken them for legs. _

_His breathing hitched, and he tried to swallow down the block in his throat. He ran a hand through his hair again. Tears prickled in the back of his eyes._

_"Auror Potter, if I can ask, what happened?" The mediwitch questioned, raising her eyebrow slightly as if seeing a completely burnt human being was commonplace. Perhaps it was in St. Mungo's._

_"I - I, there was fire - magical fire, and she - caught in it." He swallowed again, and begged whatever deity was up there to render him more articulate._

_The middle-aged witch nodded her head in thought, but didn't press the issue or comment on his speech. "I see. I hope everything works out for you, Harry - may I call you Harry?"_

_Harry's fists clenched and his temper flared. "Auror Potter is fine," he ground out. Whether she wanted a personally addressed autograph later, or was just trying to be amicable, he didn't care at the moment. _

_He didn't want a new friend today._

_She gave him a look. Like she was suddenly talking to child. "Alright Auror Potter. Whatever makes you happy." The mediwitch made no move to leave, and proceeded to stare condescendingly at him – he could see it from his peripheral, and it made him jittery with indignation._

_He felt like he was going to tear the hair from his head. He whiplashed around to face her. "I just lost a friend—" Harry glanced at the tag on her chest, "—Healer Sumner. Would you mind leaving for a moment?" _

_Color rose to her cheeks. Sumner put her hands on her hips. "I can't leave the patient—"_

_"She's dead," he stated more coldly than intended. "And if you've followed the papers as astutely as most others, then you would have known that I am in fact a healer myself. I can take care of this, why don't you go ahead and fetch yourself a cup of tea?" _

_The healer spluttered, but Harry pulled the pristine curtains that separated Tonk's deathbed from the rest of the infirmary shut before Sumner's face could flush red. He knew it would._

_Harry turned toward Tonks. His heart ached. During and after the war, Tonks had been his best friend, up there with Ron and Hermione. She could bring the light through any dark window. _

_Teddy only had him now. Andromeda, bless her soul, had died while trying to protect her husband, who was slain only moments after. The pureblood was the better fighter of the both._

_His lips cracked into a sad, pained smile. In a few days, once Tonks had passed through the limbo, he would be able to talk to her; ask her what had happened._

_At the moment though, Harry had a more pressing matter than mourning over the death of Tonks's body. He had to make sure her son was safe._

_Looking down, he saw Dolohov's bone-white half-mask tucked into the sheets. The rubies and emeralds glittered menacingly at him. He knew what a half-mask meant. That meant the wearer didn't have to hide anymore._

**-M-**

_The heavy, echoing footsteps from the hall stopped. Tears ran down his flushed cheeks. He was under the table, shaking with fear. He gripped his wand with white knuckles, and repeated family mantras over and over in his head in an attempt to instill even a tendril of bravery within himself. Cygnus couldn't die now. He was going to be a second-year at Hogwarts this year – they couldn't kill him, he was a Black. This was his house, they had no right. _

_Could he defend himself? Magic was difficult, sometimes it worked for him and sometimes it didn't. He wished with abandon that his mother or father would barge through the front door and protect him. Above all else, though, he hoped Walburga and Alphard were safe. _

"_There you are," a cold voice hissed, grabbing him by the collar and easily hauling him out. Cygnus screamed. "You're coming with me."_

"_Avada Kedavra!" He sobbed, waving his wand around like he'd seen his father do. _

_A drips of blood started coming out of his assailant's nose. "You little shit." He grabbed the wand from his hand, put it between his teeth, and clenched down hard, breaking it. No human could do that. Cygnus started kicking and screaming harder, even more afraid than ever before. _

_Suddenly a whizzing stream of red flew past, barely missing them both. "Let go of him Uncle Arcturus!" It was Alphard, wand in hand, anger in his eyes. "You can't take him away!" _

"_Watch me, you little bastard boy. The Black wealth belongs to us, not to your inferior line. I know one of you corrupted the will." The man drew his wand, and shot the Killing Curse at Alphard. _

_He dodged at the last second, and fired a curse back._

_"Can you try again?" Vian asked, garnet eyes looking straight ahead. His gaze was locked with a werewolf's in the cage across. From what Harry knew, the two weren't enemies. _

_Harry poked at the corner of his cell until his hand eventually slipped through. Shocks ran up his arm, but he grit his teeth and bore it. He reached out with his own magic and started to erode away the warding in the area, but it too slow, and his hand was becoming numb. _

_What frustrated him was the fact that if he had a wand, he could have already sent the Unspeakables to an early grave. What they were doing was immoral. They were experimenting on magical creatures, taking the best parts of each in an attempt to create a superior being. It was failing spectacularly, and lives were lost._

_When Harry had been spit out from the Death Veil, they'd just thrown him in here. Sometimes they would interrogate him. They seemed positive he was some sort of spy. _

"_I can't," Harry said to Vian. The only reason they could even talk to each other was because of this weak spot. "I can break them, but that will activate any alarms." _

"_And you won't make it out," Vian mused. "Without a wand, you're just a muggle. They'll get you." _

_Harry frowned and drew his hand out the wall of magic. "I'm actually quite good at surviving." _

"_I propose a solution." Vian licked his lips feverishly and fingered the black collar around his neck. It looked like nothing more than a leather band, but kept the beast within docile. "I'll turn you." _

"_They'll find out." _

"_My venom works fast." Vian lowered his lids and slumped further against the wall. "When they leave for the night, I'll change you, and while you're changing, you'll destroy the wards. There's about an hour before the night shift starts. After you're free, you'll release everyone. The majority will be re-captured, but the strong will flee." _

**-M-**

"_Black." The silhouette drawled in a cold, commanding tone. The way he said his name caressed his very core. _

"_Mr. Riddle. What do I owe the pleasure?" Cygnus kept his voice steady, and briefly looked into Riddles eyes before feeling too unnerved, switching his focus to his aquiline nose instead. There was something about this man that screamed at him to run and never turn back. _

_Dark blue eyes bore into his. "I want to promote you," he said simply. "Show me your worth to my department." _

**-M-**

_Panic, feverish and cold, ran through him. The Resurrection Ring – it wasn't there. This was a different era. Everyone that he had loved… they were gone. They were actually gone, he could never talk to Sirius, or his mother again. _

_And his wand. Where was it? Would Dumbledore have it? Could he get the cloak back?_

_He had to get them back. _

**-M-**

_Cygnus brushed the bronze ringlets from his wife's face. Her eyes, once perfectly painted with kohl, were running sooty tears. Druella stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. Her lips were soft. _

"_You still have a long time to live." _

**-M-**

_Harry stood at the edge of the Death Veil, watching as the tattered curtains beckoned him forward into its cruel void. Unlike the last time, he couldn't hear any voices. _

_Someone had murdered his fiancée and threw her in here to erase the evidence – according to Croaker. Was she still his fiancée? She'd broken it off just yesterday, after he had come home late again. _

_Suddenly, something behind him moved, and then he was falling forward. He didn't even realize he was falling until he felt the curtains envelop his legs in their silky grasp. Before he was claimed, he looked up to see a dark figure at the edge, brilliant red eyes burning into his soul. _

**-M-**

_His three daughters were the light of his life. Bellatrix the fighter, Andromeda the peacekeeper, and Narcissa the sweestest villian of them all. He regaled to them a story of romance, death, and heroism. Bellatrix was lounging on the couch, a book in hand, pretending not to be interested. Andromeda was hugging his side, and Narcissa was on his lap. _

_Everytime of them had been born, Druella apologized for not giving him a son. Frankly, he didn't quite care. He couldn't imagine life without any of his little witches._

**-M- **

_The mirror reflected back at him a terror like no other. It was his face. Brilliant green eyes, messy black hair - it was him. But it wasn't. There was something dark and dangerous looming under the skin. Demonic energy twisted in his features, expertly hidden to anyone who wasn't Harry. His eyes were too green, too bright. His hair too black. _

_He looked down at his trembling hands. He could feel the blackness of despair and destruction run through his veins, corrupting him from the inside. Each movement whetted an evil unlike any other. This evil, that was both a necessity to the world, and its bane. _

_Death itself._

**-M-**

Harry awoke with his limbs strewn haphazardly on the dungeon floor, legs covered in white powder, and head throbbing. He quickly sat up, and steadied himself with a swinging motion. Grimacing, he brushed the crushed bones off his robes. Cygnus was sitting in the twin circle, looking at him with an concerned expression.

When the connecting process started, he witnessed _some_ of Cygnus's memories, and him his. It was like he had dipped his head into a pensive full of memories, and they just started arbitrarily barraging him one after another until the link was complete.

The ritual created a mostly one-way connection. He could feel something warm in the back of his mind - satesfaction, pleasure, happiness. It was uncannily similar to when Voldemort was connected with him. When Cygnus needed him, there would be mind-unravelling pain, and a deep sense of urgency. That's when he knew he had to leave his body. After he left his body, it would succumb to a vegetative state, prone and vulnerable.

That was the price, for the greatest treasure in the world.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hope you enjoyed it. I realize there's a lot of things going on, and a lot of thing unsolved. They will be addressed soon/discussed further, so you don't have to worry. **


End file.
